The Life of Glass (7 page)

There are only
two seasons in the desert—summer and winter—and there never seemed to be much in between. On the last day of October the temperature was 97 degrees, and by mid-November the high was in the 60s, but the lows at night were in the 30s, so it was a chilly ride to school. I found my winter coat buried in the back of my closet and the blue gloves my mother bought me the winter we were in Philadelphia, when I’d felt real, biting cold and experienced true snow for the very first time.

I watched my breath frost the air as I rode my bike to school, alone. Because Ryan and Courtney had
officially become a couple, Ryan had asked me, almost sheepishly, if I would mind if he rode his bike across the wash to Courtney’s house and then walked to school with her some days. “Yeah. Whatever,” I’d said. “It’s a free country.”

And then “some days” turned into every day, and I was stuck riding to school by myself.

In biology we were almost finished with the frog, and Mr. Finkelstein had announced that next semester, when we started on the pig, we’d be switching lab partners. I almost wanted to puke when I saw Ryan and Courtney exchange knowing glances, and Jeffrey gave me a nudge with his elbow that I pretended not to notice.

In English we were reading Oedipus, and I was stuck on the paper we were supposed to be writing about his tragic flaw. In class, Mrs. Connor gave us a hint that it had something to do with the fact that Oedipus thought he was above the gods, that he could escape a prophecy. But I really thought it was his curiosity that got him in the end. That if only he’d left well enough alone, none of the tragic stuff might have happened to him. It was this thought that made me tuck Sally Bedford away in the back of my mind for a little while. Part of me wanted to go to Charles and Large and talk to her, but it was
probably too far to ride my bike there, and I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to ask Ashley to drive me.

The week before Christmas break we had midterms, and the biology one on the frog was supposed to be tough. Courtney and Ryan invited me to study with them, and I accepted, mainly because I had no idea how to tell the difference between a frog liver and a frog heart and I didn’t want to fail the first semester of biology.

I met them at Courtney’s house the Saturday before the test.

“Meliss.” Courtney hugged me when she opened the door. “It’s been so long since we’ve hung out.” She ushered me up to her bedroom, where Ryan was already stretched out on her high bed. It felt strange to see him there, all lean and long and lanky, in a position he’d been in on my bed dozens of times. But here he looked like someone else, like her Ryan. “You know what?” Courtney announced as soon as I sat down. “We need to find you a boyfriend so we can all double-date. Wouldn’t that be great, Ry?”

I looked at him, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Yeah, sure.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Who do you like at school? Come on, Meliss. You can tell us.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer. If I said no one then she would scour the pages of Ryan’s old yearbook until she found someone suitable, and if I said someone then I knew she wouldn’t let up about it. “We should study,” I finally said.

Paco ran into her room and started yipping, and then he sat down in my lap. I watched Ryan carefully, because I knew dogs made him wheeze. He cleared his throat a little. “Shouldn’t you put Paco in the other room?” I said to Courtney.

“Why?” She looked genuinely confused, so I knew that Ryan hadn’t mentioned his allergy to her. What an idiot.

“Never mind,” I said. But Paco gave me a sort of curious, insulted look, as if he thought I wanted him gone. He sniffed the air a little and ran out of the room. Ryan’s shoulders relaxed, and I knew he was relieved that he wasn’t about to have an asthma attack in front of Courtney, or worse, that he’d have to explain to her that he didn’t quite love her beloved Paco as much as he’d probably said he did.

Courtney left to get Paco some food, and Ryan came down on the floor and sat next to me. He nudged my leg with his foot. “We should have a little ceremony next
week for Kermit, to celebrate his demise.”

I laughed, despite the fact that I was still annoyed with him. “I think it’s a little past that point, don’t you?” Kermit was no longer a frog; he didn’t even much resemble a
dead
frog. He was just sort of this thing now, lifeless, a specimen, so that he really could’ve originally been anything at all.

“But still, the poor guy deserves something, after all he’s been through. Don’t you think? It’s not that easy being green,” he started singing in the funny off-key way he has of singing everything.

“You’re terrible.” I started laughing again, because the truth was, Kermit wasn’t even exactly green anymore, just sort of this weird rusty-brown color.

“What’s so funny?” Courtney walked back in.

Ryan stopped singing. “We were just talking about poor Kermit.”

She made a face. “Ugh. I can’t stand it. Let’s just study and get it over with already.”

I agreed. The sooner we were done with this, the better.

I received a seventy-two on my frog exam, which was enough for me to earn a solid C in biology for the
semester, a grade I was actually a little bit proud of, because I’d done absolute minimal dissecting and studying all fall. I got an A in Mrs. Connor’s English class because she thought my take on Oedipus was original, not wrong, even though I didn’t exactly go for her idea of the whole thing. I loved teachers like that, who liked it when I thought out of the box or when I disagreed with them or, as my dad always used to say, found the other silver lining, the one nobody else thought to look for. But of course, teachers like Mrs. Connor were rare at Desert Crest. I was fortunate to have ended up with her.

I got Bs in the rest of my classes, and once you averaged out the A and the C, I was a solid B student, which was more than enough to please my mother. “Very good,” she’d said as she’d glanced, only barely, at my report card. And it almost felt like I was getting away with something because I knew my dad wouldn’t have been satisfied, that he would’ve expected better from me. Before he died, I’d been a straight-A student.

Just after school
let out for winter break, my mom announced that Aunt Julie was coming to town for a visit. Aunt Julie never came to visit; in fact the only time she’d been here since I was born was for my dad’s funeral, and even then, she and Uncle Frank were in and out in less than forty-eight hours. “Once you leave a place,” my mother had said, “there’s something about it that makes you never want to come back.” I didn’t exactly understand what she meant, and I wondered if I ever moved away if I’d want to come back here or not. Maybe I would miss the desert, all the parched and prickly landscapes and blue skies and dust and brown horizons. Or maybe
I wouldn’t. Maybe if I moved somewhere on the East Coast like Aunt Julie did, I would get used to the snow in the winter and the constant sticky dewiness of the air in the spring.

Aunt Julie arrived two days before Christmas. My mom was at work and Ashley was out, so I was the only one there when she rang the doorbell. When I opened the front door, she was standing there on the front step wearing a long brown dress with her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. She was sort of like a miniature version of my mother, only not as pretty and much more serious-looking. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, and she’d gained a little weight since I’d seen her last. She had three bags, piled high on top of one another, propped up next to her. Either she didn’t pack light, or she was planning on staying.

“Where’s Uncle Frank?” I asked.

She cleared her throat. “It’s just me this time.” She stepped toward me, like she was about to hug me but wasn’t sure where to put her arms, so I reached out and hugged her to avoid any awkwardness.

“Come on in.” I held open the door and she pulled the suitcases through, having to fight to make it over the threshold.

I already knew that something was up. Aunt Julie did not go anywhere without Uncle Frank. Ever. Even when they came to see us when we were in Philadelphia and we were only a few hours’ drive from where they lived, Aunt Julie hadn’t come alone. In fact, I’d sort of made them into one person in my mind, so it felt funny to see her here by herself.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, surveying the house.

“Mom’s at work and Ashley’s out somewhere. Probably with her boyfriend.”

“Oh.” She sat down at the kitchen table and I offered her a drink. “Just some water. No ice.”

I got it for her and sat down next to her.

“So your sister has a boyfriend now, huh?” I nodded. “What about you, Melissa?”

“Nope.” I shook my head. My aunt and I weren’t exactly what you would call close. Sure, she’d send me a card with a check for fifty dollars on my birthday, and every once in a while I’d pick up the phone and say hi or something when she called to talk to my mom, but I wasn’t about to spill my guts to her or anything like that.

“I never had a boyfriend when I was your age either,” she said. “Just study and keep your grades up and go to a
good college. That’s what really matters right now.”

“Uh-huh.” Clearly, Aunt Julie would’ve been disappointed by my report card. I could imagine her shaking her head, her tight, thin lips pursed in a frown.

“So what’s it been like around here lately in the desert?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t sure if she wanted a weather report or a gossip report, but I took another look at her serious, tightly woven bun and opted for the weather. “Nice,” I said. “Cool. Sunny.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “This is always the time of year when I miss being here. Just when the snow starts to pile up in the mountains back east.” She stared out the glass door into our backyard and seemed very deep in thought.

“You staying long?” I finally said, just to say something.

“Oh I don’t know. A few days.” She paused. “Just to catch up.”

But she sounded so sad that I instantly wondered what had happened, what Uncle Frank had done.

Aunt Julie decided to take a nap, so I helped her carry her bags up to my father’s old office and get the sleeper sofa
all set up. “Will you wake me when your mother gets home?” she said. “I don’t want to sleep till morning.”

I realized I’d have the house to myself for a few more hours and I felt a little bit antsy, just itching to get out of it. I could call Ryan or Courtney, but I already knew they’d be hanging out together, and I didn’t feel like playing the third wheel again.

It was a beautiful day outside, bright piercing sunshine and nearly 70 degrees, so I decided I would take a bike ride to visit Grandma Harry. I’d put “Find out more about Sally Bedford” on my mental winter-break to-do list. And if this was my tragic flaw, so be it.

I scribbled a quick note for Aunt Julie in case she woke up, grabbed my jacket, and hopped on my bike.

It turned out I was wrong about Ryan, who was in the front yard trimming a bougainvillea with this big pair of hedge cutters. “Hey there, landscaper man,” I yelled.

He looked up, and I noticed a dead flower in his hair. “Hey, Mel. You riding in the wash?”

I shook my head. “To Sunset Vistas. To see my grandmother.”

“Oh.” We both kind of stared at each other for a minute or so.

“Wanna ride with me?” I finally said. “I could use
some company.” I knew he would. Ryan was always looking for an excuse to get out of the chores his father left for him.

“Let me just go in and get my inhaler,” he said.

So we rode, the two of us again. It had been nearly a month since we’d ridden at all, nearly two since we’d ridden in the wash, and I wondered if those days of treasure hunting were over, if it was something we’d finally outgrown.

“How’s Courtney?” I asked him.

“She’s in San Diego this week. With her dad for Christmas.”

I was a little surprised that she hadn’t called to tell me she was leaving. But then the other part of me, the tiny little place where I stored joy, did a momentary happy dance. I was going to have him all to myself again.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” he asked.

We hadn’t really discussed it yet, beyond the fact that Aunt Julie was coming and that my mom might be inviting Kevin Baker to Christmas dinner. (“It’s not a definite, girls. Only a maybe. Just a maybe.” It was hard to tell if she’d meant her relationship with him or just the one dinner, but I took it that she only meant the dinner.)
“The Hair might come over,” I said. “And my aunt’s in town.”

“You have an aunt?” he said.

It seemed strange that he didn’t know that, but it’s not like he ever would’ve met her. He and his father had come to my dad’s funeral, but we weren’t going around making tons of introductions or anything. “Yeah. My mom’s sister. She lives in Pennsylvania.”

“Wow.” He shook his head. “I totally did not know that about you. What do you call her?”

“Aunt Julie.”

“No, I mean like a nickname.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t really thought about it before; she wasn’t exactly a big-enough part of my life to warrant it.

“What does she do?”

“She’s a sociology professor.”

“Perfect. The Professor.”

I nodded. That suited her, stodgy and serious, but I felt a little bad thinking about how sad she’d been earlier, so I added, “She’s really not so bad,” though I had no idea if this was completely true or not.

“Man.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe your mom’s still dating the Hair. That’s insane.”

“I know,” I said, but I didn’t want to say anything
else, didn’t even want to talk about him because the more I thought or talked about him, the more real he felt. And the more real he felt, the sadder I got about my father all over again.

We pulled into the Sunset Vistas parking lot and stopped our bikes by the front doors. “You wanna come in?” I asked. Ryan had met Grandma Harry before, when we were younger, but he hadn’t seen her in years, not since she’d become infinitely forgetful.

“Naw,” he said. “I’ll wait for you out here. Guard the bikes, in case any old fart tries to escape.”

“You’re terrible,” I said, but I was still smiling.

Grandma Harry was sitting up in bed watching
Oprah
, or she had
Oprah
on and she was staring at the TV anyway. “Oh, Melissa.” She waved me in. “Honey pie. I was just thinking about you.”

“You were?”

“This lady on
Oprah
holds the record for reading the most books in the entire world, and I was just thinking about how you always used to read so much, and your father would help you keep a list of all the books you read.”

Yes. So long ago. In a world before Dr. Singh and cancer and death, I had been a serious and avid reader,
a frequent checker-outer at the library. It was a part of my life I’d forgotten about until that moment, until she’d gone and given it back to me, like a gift. “How many books has she read?” I asked, pointing to the TV.

“Oh I don’t know, honey pie. Dang it, I can’t remember. Maybe a million. Oh my memory is terrible. Come sit down and watch with me.”

I pulled up a chair, but I wasn’t really interested in watching. I’d come here on a mission. Sally Bedford. Sally Bedford. Sally Bedford. And I didn’t want to leave Ryan waiting outside too long. So I just decided to blurt it out. “Grandma,” I said.

“What, honey pie?”

“Can I ask you something about my dad?”

She turned her eyes from the TV to me, and her eyes looked way too deep and intense for the eyes of a person who was half missing behind them. “He’s dead. Isn’t he?” she said.

It was a relief to hear her say it, to hear her remember, to not have to dance around the obvious, make up an excuse, or lie. I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “He is.”

“How did it happen? How did he die?”

“Cancer,” I said.

“My memory is terrible.” She shook her head. “My
memory is just so bad.” She reached for my hand, and when I gave it to her, she squeezed it.

“A few months ago when I was here, I asked you about Dad’s old girlfriends, and you said something about Sally Bedford. Who was she?”

“Oh, honey pie”—she let go of my hand and leaned it on her forehead as if she had developed a terrible migraine—“did I really say that?”

I nodded.

“You know my memory is terrible. I can’t remember saying that.”

“I know,” I said. “It’s okay. We all forget things.” It was a lame attempt to make her feel better and I knew it, but there were only so many times I could nod and smile when she told me how forgetful she was before I felt the need to try to make her feel better. “But Grandma, who was she? How did Dad know her?”

She grabbed my hand again, and she squeezed it really tight. “Honey pie, sometimes it’s better to forget.”

Ryan was lying on a half wall next to our bikes, sunning himself when I walked out. He had his sunglasses on, so it was hard to tell if he was napping or daydreaming. “Hey, get up.” I pushed his leg a little bit, and he sat up.
“Are you up for a ride?”

“Well, duh. I’m here aren’t I?”

“No, I mean a real ride. I’m going to Charles and Large.”

“Mel, you can’t be serious.”

“What?” I shrugged. It couldn’t be more than another five miles or so to Charles and Large, and we’d already come this far. We could do it. I thought briefly about my aunt Julie napping in my father’s study and the fact that my mother might beat me home, but then I pushed those thoughts aside. I was going to find Sally, and I was going to find her today.

He sighed and hopped back on his bike. “What is so damn important at Charles and Large?”

“I’ll tell you once I figure it out,” I said.

So we pedaled across flat and gridded streets until we got closer to the center of town. I kept pedaling even when my legs were tired, even when I heard Ryan’s breathing, thick and heavy behind me, but I stopped when he stopped, when he pulled out the inhaler and sucked on it, hard. “We’re almost there,” I said.

“Mel, I don’t think I can do it.” His voice sounded raspy.

“You can.”

“But I’ll never make it home.”

“We’ll call Ashley to pick us up and we’ll come back for our bikes in the morning.” I was inventing a plan on the spot, not really thinking it through enough to realize that Ashley might not come for us, that she might not even answer if we called her. But I kept pedaling. Because I had to, because I needed to know.

And then at last I saw it there, over the horizon, the big Charles and Large sign with the logo that reminded me of a Christmas-tree star, sitting right there against the backdrop of a purple-and-brown mountain, as if it were native to the desert, as if it belonged here.

“It looks pretty empty,” Ryan said, wheezing. He was referring to the parking lot, which had only maybe ten cars left in it. And it occurred to me that it was almost Christmas, that everyone was probably on vacation.

I left my bike by the front entrance, not even bothering to chain it, and Ryan did the same. He followed me inside without saying anything else, maybe because he thought I was acting a little crazy or maybe because he was just entirely out of breath. I’d taken it all from him, everything he had.

The front receptionist was still at her desk. She was
a large woman in a sacky black dress, and she wore her phone in a headset and typed something on her computer while she talked. I sat in a chair and waited until she hung up.

“Can I help you?” She stared at me kind of funny, turning her head to the side. “Do I know you?”

“No,” I said, but then I realized that maybe she did, because she looked vaguely familiar, and she might’ve worked here when my dad did, she might’ve been at his funeral. Who could really be sure? His work friends, his companions had all just been a blur, a sea of stretched and unfamiliar faces. I cleared my throat. “I’m looking for Sally Bedford.”

“Oh, well, you’re about six months too late.” I immediately jumped to the conclusion that she was dead, which simultaneously annoyed me and made me feel somewhat relieved. I was never going to know the truth. “She hasn’t worked here since June,” she said. Not dead. Just fired. Or she quit.

“But she was on your website. I saw her picture.”

She laughed. “She was the one who did our website, and the big guys”—she pointed in the direction of what I assumed to be Charles’s or Large’s office—“have come down hard on the budget. So they haven’t
rehired for her position yet.”